Title: Jack
Author: tauredhiel
Rating: M (to be on the safe side)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor am I trying to make a profit from this fic.
Pairing: Rose/Amy, implied Rose/Jack/Doctor.
Summary: Rose does something she wouldn't ordinarily do in Jack's memory and enjoys herself a bit more than she expected to. Set sometime early in series two.
"Oh, go on, Rose, Shareen's been missing you something fierce." Jackie Tyler did her best to shoo her daughter out the door of their apartment. "After all, you did disappear for a year and then barely say hello before dashing off again."
Rose rolls her eyes at the barefaced guilt trip, but internally, it works. The danger's over, and the they've got some free time here. She barely paid attention to her the last few times she saw her, she was so focused on the Doctor... She swallows and wonders if this is her mum trying to punish her, just a little bit. Shareen'll probably be mad.
She dials her up. It's awkward, those first few seconds, and her voice is uncertain and soft, but she's pleasantly surprised and a little overwhelmed when Shareen fairly sqeals with delight and says she's dragging her out to go dancing. Her heart skips a beat, and she can't help the smile that rises to her lips, the flutter in her stomach. It really is okay.
They pick up where they left off, after Shareen gives her a perfunctory smack on the arm for making her worry before conspiratorially asking if he was at least hot. Rose giggles and tells her yes, and he's the best person she's ever met besides, and they leave it at that. Shareen doesn't care why or what, and seems to understand when she says she can't tell her much, just wiggling her eyebrows every time she says something "mysterious" and making Rose laugh. It is, she thinks, but it isn't. It's the best thing she's ever done, the most important thing she's ever been part of, she says, but she's travelling with a goofball who's like one of her best friends and it feels easy, in a way, like it's what she was always meant to do.
Shareen wiggles her eyebrows with a mischevious light in her eyes, making kissy-faces, and Rose has to laugh, lets go for the moment of the part of her that wants to defend him, wants to say, we save the world every day, not do something childish like make out.
Really, wouldn't hurt if they did it more often.
They're to the bar before she realizes what's happened, they're so involved in their conversation, and it's the same as she remembers it: cheap drinks, shit for lighting, and full of people her age. Their age. She has to take a deep breath and remind herself to relax when she finds herself mapping the exits, in case something happens. Be just her luck to go out and run into a Dalek with her best mate, she thinks. Or mind-controlling nanogenes in their drinks... Stop. Keep an eye open and worry about it if something happens.
It's almost enough to get her to relax all the way.
There's a stag party there tonight, strippers and the whole bit. Half the bar's gathered around to watch even if it isn't their party, shouting and throwing bills, the rest sticking to the dance floor.
It's been so long since she was in a place like this, pure hormones and intoxication, and it hits her hard. She wasn't out often, generally only on weekends, since she worked, and being this close in a high-spirited mass of humanity after everything she's seen is... overwhelming. Shareen notices, grabs her hand, giving her a look that asks if she's gonna be alright. Rose nods, strangely grateful, sucking in a breath and gathering all her self-possession. If she can face down a Dalek and watch her home planet die, turn the Dalek emperor and his entire fleet to dust just for her Doctor, she can face down a bar full of drunk teens and twentysomethings and a stag party just fine for her best mate.
Oh, god, she needs to be drunk for this.
They snag their drinks-Rose gets three shots right off, and Shareen raises an eyebrow that she thinks Rose can't see-and shoulder onto the floor. Dancing feels odd, at first, but apparently she's gotten in fantastic shape since she started travelling, and she remembers quickly enough. It feels odd, though-no matter how much she remembers, part of her keeps thinking about all the things happening out there, all the crises and the small moments that become bigger moments that become something that alters the very fabric of reality and she's not sure, not entirely, why she's here when she could be there.
Rose has no problem telling off the boys who come over and try to insert themselves into their bubble. They seem so... childish, now. Shortsighted and stupid. Even the ones she would've found very attractive a few months ago. Drunk and bumbling, and so wonderfully earnest but... missing a spark. The shots hit her bloodstream, though, and everything begins to pulse a bit, and she doesn't care when a boy-who never would've approached her before she started travelling with the Doctor, she thinks-comes over and begins to dance with her, and after what feels like a long, long time, offers to buy her a drink. She says sure. Why not? He's bloody hot and she's supposed to have fun. She's not nearly drunk enough, either. They'll be right back. Shareen nods.
Turns out he's from the stag party. He invites her and Shareen to come hang with his mates, after a bit, and she agrees, making eyebrows at Shareen when he turns away. It's her turn to giggle.
She's running a decent buzz, now, and she's finally close enough to see what's going on. There's two women, one dancing to the music, the other on someone's lap. "Someone" is being cheered heartily. They're both hot; one's got a darker cast to her skin, the other's a tall, leggy redhead with stunning dark eyes. She wonders if she's actually a ginger, but can't tell for the lighting. Both of them are absolutely gorgeous. She finds herself watching them move, how their smiles ride that exact line between suggestive and flat-out sexual, moving to send the light exactly to the spot they want to highlight, the muscles sliding under their skin. They're wearing costumes, nun costumes, of all things, of course in different stages of removal, and Rose has to stifle a giggle when she wonders what kind of scenario this started out as. Someone's got a kink or three. For some reason, though, that makes her think of Jack, and she feels the buzz ebb considerably. Jack kissing them both good-bye. You are worth fighting for. Jack kissing the Doctor, that small frisson of abandon on her Doctor's face giving him away. It aches. Sure, the Doctor said he'd be alright, but part of her remembers that good-bye kiss and thinks yeah, that was it. There's a whisper in her head, a figure slumped against the wall and... She wrenches herself back to the present.
The redhead's the one dancing, and Rose can't keep her eyes off her. She's tall, gotta be six feet if not more, and she's wearing... five inch heels, those must be. She's taller than most of the men when they're standing, and a fair bit are sitting or leaning. Some of the more drunk ones are not-so-inconspicuously swaying forward and trying to look up what's left of the costume, which she's still stripping off. Apparently, the party's still just starting.
Part of her looks at the redhead, and thinks, Right now, he'd be thinking oh, this should be good.
Who am I kidding, he'd have both those girls on his arm by now. And some of the men.
It makes her eyes well up, and she turns away for a moment until she can clear them. She covers by taking a huge gulp of her drink, which has enough alcohol to make her eyes water on its own.
She turns back, and Shareen's on someone's arm, giggling. Her new friend is just a bit in front of her. All eyes are on the dancers. She breathes an internal sigh of relief.
The dark-haired one leans over and kisses someone, a different someone. Oh. Not just strippers, kissogrammes. Yeah, Jack would'a loved this.
It has to be the alcohol that puts the idea in her head. Really, she isn't thinking at all. Just thinking about Jack.
She flashes twenty to the redhead. Her smile spreads, and she heads deliberately in her direction. Her nerves jump, and she wonders if this was a good idea. He was a soldier, though, of sorts. Nothing to do with how the redhead can drop her ass nearly all the way to the floor in those heels, the almost fierce look she has about her. How she has a magnetism to her that the other kissogramme just doesn't, there in those heels not touching anyone yet and she's effortlessly at the center of attention. There's something about her, too, that the other one lacks. That the whole bloody crowd lacks.
The redhead begins to move around her, runs her hand through Rose's hair. The men in the party whistle and shout, clap. Her nails graze her skin, over her clothes, trailing a frisson of pleasure around her shoulders and across her neck, a shock around the very edge of her ear. Dips down, drags her nails up her side on the way back up. Slides one leg between Rose's. Inside her mouth, she bites her tongue; she's not shy about getting close to Rose. And Rose doesn't mind, it's just... close. She didn't realize how close. She tries to not focus on how warm the woman's bare skin is, the tight curve of her hips, her breasts, that suggestive smirk and gleam in her eyes. Tries not to breathe. She's not sure if she's more afraid that she won't like it or that she will. Breathe. She breathes. Feels her stomach flutter, heart skip and speed. Now she's practically straddling Rose's lap, and she can feel the heat from her body radiating across the space between them.
The sudden electricity she feels in her belly is definitely not unpleasant. She has the odd urge to pull her all the way down, or push her hips up. Close the distance. But she's frozen. What do I even do?
"'S for a friend of mine," Rose murmurs when she leans down. Yeah, because you need an excuse for the kissogramme.
The redhead's smile is magnificently sexy, suggestive, and her body is close enough to Rose's when she turns on the charm that Rose is glad she's sitting down. She wonders if exposure to the Time Vortex doesn't affect one's sexuality. Wider universe, I'll say. She leans in and whispers, lips a breath from her ear, and Rose feels a wave of tingling shoot through her nerves from her ear, down her neck, and all the way over her collarbone. It's hard to stop herself from drawing her breath in sharply. "It's okay if you just like me." Oh, and she's a Scot. Could this get any more fantastic?
"I do." she whispers back with what she hopes is bravado. Hesitates. "He was a soldier." Hopes that says enough without spoiling the mood.
"Ah." A sigh of warm breath against her ear, another wave of tingles, and she can feel herself going a bit funny between the legs. It must be the alcohol. "What was his name?"
"Jack." It's a bit rough-edged, but she hopes a single-syllable word can't catch too much. Or she just sounds turned on.
"To Jack, then." It's not pitying, not overly sympathetic, or exasperated, and Rose is so, so glad. And she can feel herself tensing with anticipation, her heartbeat jumping at the sensuous warmth of her voice and her body, knowing what's coming next. What was in that drink?
For some reason, it's still a shock when her mouth touches Rose's. And Rose wouldn't consider herself experienced, certainly not on the level of a kissogramme or anything, but she supposes the experience she's had, between the Doctor and Jack, more than compensates for any lack of professionalism. Professionalism? Oh, god, it feels anything but professional, the way her mouth is moving, and Rose is strangely nervous about being good enough for this, for this woman and for Jack both, and-
"Relax," the woman's pulled back enough to whisper, smiling, almost against her lips. She can't quite hear her, but when she pulls away, Rose opens her eyes, to find the other woman fixing her with quite possibly the most beautiful hazel eyes she's ever seen, long curving eyelashes, eyes smiling, easy. Between that and the movement of her mouth and what she can hear, that's definitely it. Or at least that's what happens. The kissogramme slides one hand into her hair gently, and Rose lets her guide her, eyes drifting shut again, breathing. She thinks of Jack.
Until she kisses her again. It's open-mouthed and slow, and feels like she means it, slowly deepening. It's easy to catch onto, even if she wasn't turned on, even if she'd never really kissed anyone before, and she opens into it, moving against her mouth, tracing her tongue along the other woman's, exploring her mouth, one hand rising all of its own accord to cup her face, trace down her cheek, not really caring if that's against the rules or not. She doesn't pull away, moving the hand that's in her hair to run her nails lightly over the skin of her neck. Rose can feel the goosebumps rising all over her body in a rush, and her breath catches, not quite a gasp against her mouth. The kissogramme's body moves, slightly, in time with the music, and each slight brush sends waves of heat everywhere. Presses down against her, for half a second. Oh, god. It takes everything in her not to reach for her hips. She thinks, I miss you, Jack, and kisses her back with the urgency of that missing. Thinks, this is for you, and loses herself in those lips, lets her bring her body to a boil with her mouth and her hips. She can feel the other woman respond. God, but she's an amazing kisser. As if there were any question.
The woman pulls back slightly, lips just a little swollen. She's a ginger, part of Rose realizes. She can see the freckles, just a dusting. It's oddly endearing. "This one's for you," she whispers, holding her gaze with those gorgeous hazel eyes, and covers Rose's mouth with her own again.
It's a different kiss ("a kiss for every occasion"? She hopes no one's ever tried that line before). There's an urgency to it, heat, not the slow boil of that first kiss, but not reckless or rushed, either. She tastes Rose, teases her tongue, invites her in again, and Rose is beginning to feel like she can tell a few things about her just from this kiss. Her hair, coming loose (or released) from the tight bun it had been in, brushes her face, and it's just as intense as her nails on her neck, that lightest of touches on skin that feels practically raw. A shiver runs up her spine, plays itself out against her mouth, draws a small sound from her throat, makes her fingers tighten on her shoulder where they've come to rest. She feels the faintest smile from the redhead. Pulling back slightly, she grazes her teeth over the redhead's lower lip, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when she hears her breath catch, her jaw drift just slightly forward and up, offering. She takes, takes her lip gently between her teeth and pulls, sucks slightly. The redhead drops her hips down against Rose's lower body and rolls them back up. She doesn't miss the shiver that runs through those lithe muscles, though. It's exquisite. That's nothing, though, compared to when she takes Rose's lower lip between her teeth and pulls harder, sucks on it just to the edge of pain, and then runs the tip of her tongue along the sensitized flesh, lazy lines with rough skin. It feels electric, and she arches into it, just a little, gasps out loud.
She's not sure how long they're like that, her moving over her, against her, mouths parting for bare fractions of a second, teeth and tongues. Vaguely, she's aware that the men have reached a new level of frenzy, watching them, egging them on, hooting and throwing money at them. Finally, they pull apart, and the shitty lighting feels blinding. Rose feels unsteady, mouth numb, can't quite figure out how her legs work. The kissogramme, though, apparently can, because she slides off Rose with one last, deep kiss, slinks away with a come-hither conspiratorial smile, tucking bills into her clothes.
As they're leaving with the group, trying to find a graceful way to extricate themselves (it's hard to be graceful when you're all shitfaced, though), one of the boys, the one who invited her to come with them, is rambling full-volume at Rose, "I know her! The kissogramme you kissed! Amy! Dunno her last name. Went to school with her, though! Fucking crazy, but bloody hot!"
"Yeah?" She feels like she's treading on dangerous territory, doesn't want to know, and especially doesn't want to know this loud. She flickers her gaze around. No one seems to be listening.
"Yeah! Had this imaginary friend she was convinced was actually real, this one she called the Raggedy Doctor, and-"
"The Doctor?" That sobers Rose up instantly. "She had a friend called the Doctor?"
"Yeah! Most people realize their imaginary friends are imaginary from the get-go, y'know? Not Amy, no, she was convinced this Doctor fellow was coming back for her to take her travelling with him. Crazy, right?"
"Ah, yeah. Totally. You... no chance you know her last name?"